The Girl Who Burned
by ravenluvslex
Summary: A stranger from the wilderness around District 12 offers Gale a distraction while Katniss is away. Will he cast her aside when the games are over?


My name is Leela, and I am nothing like Katniss Everdeen. We may look alike, with dark hair, skin tinted from time in the sun, and muscles shaped by years of staying alive in the forest, but that is where the resemblance ends. My eyes are blue and I have long given up my long hair, and the braid down my back.

I am not as accurate with a bow as she is, but other than that I can do anything she can do, except perhaps turn off my emotions long enough to win a battle and break a heart. Haymitch Abernathy once told me, while we were drinking ourselves stupid, that though Katniss was "The Girl on Fire", I was the girl that burned. He's right. I have always been burning, with questions and arguments, dreams and desires, jealousy and anger, and searing loss.

So far as I know, I am the only person alive in Panem, who did not spend their adolescence in either apprehension of or preparation for the Hunger Games. I was born in District 4 and lived in a house by the sea. My father was a doctor who owned three fishing boats. We were not the wealthiest in our district, but my father was a frugal man and we had more than most people outside of the Capitol can even imagine. We never struggled for food. My father had a small library, when many had no access to books outside of school. My mother and I had a new dress every month and each year for my birthday my father would give me a single pearl.

I owned nine pearls the year that my brother was chosen as tribute for the games. When his name was called, my parents didn't react much. Our district always had volunteers. As Skylar made his way to the stage we waited for a shout from the crowd, my father's eyes turned toward the older boys. Even as the ceremony was ending, we all stood stunned, still not believing he would go to the games. It was not real until we were saying our goodbyes and watching the train pull away.

I still don't know why there was no volunteer tribute that year. Were the usual suspects ill? Had they simply lost their nerve? It was was the first time in 15 years that no one from District 4 had volunteered. If someone had taken Skylar's place, we might have lived happily in the house by the sea until the Second Uprising. Instead he was killed in the first five minutes of his games, by the career tribute, who would later win.

After his death, my mother sort of snapped. She functioned perfectly well, but she seemed to have forgotten the carefully balanced status quo of even our wealthy district. She refused to watch the games, and publicly stated that she would not watch her son's murderer be rewarded, at the closing ceremonies. At only nine years old, I knew that these were radical statements. I knew that she was endangering us all.

My father knew it too, but he seemed unable, or possibly unwilling, to silence my mother. He quietly began to trade and sell our finest possessions, including his books, for jewels. There was no common currency between the districts, but gold and jewels were valuable anywhere. I knew nothing of his plans until they were set in motion.

One night, less than two months after Skylar left, with only the provisions we could carry, we took one of my father's fishing boats from the docks and road in the dark until just past the perimeter of District 4. My mother and I went ashore there, and my father told us to follow the border inland, until he caught up. He then took the boat several miles farther up the shore, to leave a cold trail.

We spent two years crossing the wilderness of Panem, stopping at a few districts so that my father might trade for seeds and gear. Though he had never hunted or built a campfire, my father had learned as much as possible from reading. As he picked up the practical applications, so did my mother and I. By the time we settled into an abandoned cabin 20 miles outside of the last district, District 12, we were all proficient in staying alive.

The year that I turned 15, my father broke his leg hunting. For years we had avoided civilization completely, but the stores of medicine we'd brought with us had run out. My mother was going to go to town, but I argued with her. I knew the woods better. I was faster and could hide more easily. She finally agreed. It was a warm spring, and I packed only my knives, a flask for water, and five fine pearls for trading.

I made it to District 12 in two days, and then spent another two looking for the best way to get past the fence, and watching the people inside it. This was the first time I saw Katniss, she was with Gale and I watched as they slipped under the fence at the edge of the poorest area of their district. When they were gone I slipped under the same hole and found my way to an abandoned warehouse, where I was able to trade the pearls for an antibiotic, some white liquor, and a sewing kit.

After that trip, when my father's leg was healed, I went back again to purchase cloth for new clothing and new fishing gear, and another trip for nails and a hammer to repair the cabin, and then it became a regular thing. Once every few months I'd slip under the fence and trade for things we couldn't make ourselves. I was careful not be noticed, and the people who traded in the warehouse seemed not to ask many questions.

I would never had ventured into any district during the Hunger Games, when everyone was on their best behavior and peacekeepers were out in mass, but at the time of the 74th games my mother was ill and in a lot of pain. My father said that if she didn't get better, he would have to do surgery, and he needed much more medication to even begin to do it safely.

So, I ventured to the warehouse after dark and asked around about the medicines I needed. The only man who could get them, said it would take several days to get the amount I needed. While I was there I couldn't help hearing the story of Katniss Everdeen volunteering for the games. Many of the whispers were about her lover and hunting companion, who must now provide for his family and hers alone. It was then that I began to suspect that the lovebirds were the couple that I had seen in the woods on multiple occasions over the years.

I waited in the woods outside the district for several days, until I was sure the man would have acquired the medication I needed. During that time I saw Gale alone, hunting and checking the skillfully made traps I had carefully avoided, and I knew it must be true. I found the whole story romantic and tragic, like the sad ironic stories that my father had told me about, written by a man named Shakespeare, but I was glad I would never have to worry about the games.

I made it safely in and out of the gate, to trade for the medicines, and slipped through the woods at an easy steady pace. I was determined to leave behind all thoughts of The Hunger Games and the sad stories they left in their wake. Then, as I passed a clearing, I saw him, sitting in the grass with his weapons and his catch strewn beside him. He looked so... so miserable, that I just had to stop.

I don't know what help I thought I could offer. I knew a similar pain, and had seen my parents suffering. I knew that only time could dull it. I thought that maybe he needed to talk, like my mother, maybe he needed to say the things that were not safe to say inside the gates of his district. I realized that I might be the only person he could talk to openly, and at the same time that he might be the only person my age I would ever have a chance to befriend.

I made a lot of extra noise as I approached the clearing, so as not to surprise him during his private moment. His eyes grew wide, as I broke through the treeline. His hand was already on his knife and his gaze narrowed as I approached. When I was just a few yards away from him, I tossed three birds alongside his game bag.

"I scared a rabbit away from one of your traps yesterday. These should make up for it." It was a lie. I hadn't gone near his traps, and the birds would offer more meat than most rabbits, but I knew that he was not likely to take charity. He gave a small sort of nod and released his blade. I sat a few feet from him, without waiting to be invited. "I'm Leela."

"Gale."

It was the first time I'd heard his name. It made me think of the sea, of strong winds and fast currents below the surface. I really didn't know where to take the conversation from there, but I didn't need to worry about it. Gale's own curiosity, and perhaps the distraction I offered, helped smooth things along.

"I've seen you at the Hob." He said, as if he'd only just then decided to speak to me at all. "But you're not from District 12 are you?"

"Do I stand out so badly?" I asked. I knew 12 wasn't the largest district, but it was large enough that not every face was familiar to every resident.

"You're coloring is different. We don't see a lot of blue eyes with brown hair, but what really gives you away are your clothes. No one here has means or use for leather pants."

I knew that was true. I always wore an old dress over my usual clothes, but if you looked close it was obvious that my pants were made from animal hide. How strange I must have looked to him at that moment, in head to toe tan leather, except for one of my father's old threadbare shirts, that I wore under a corset type top, mostly for protection from insects. All of my hunting clothes had been designed, by my mother, with leather laces and gussets in hope that they might grow with me through adolescence.

"I'll try to find something more appropriate the next time I'm in town." I told him with a smile.

"When will that be?"

"I don't go inside the gate if I can help it, especially during... the games." My voice trailed as I mentioned them. "But I might be in the area hunting, say a week from today."

He gave another short nod, but I could tell that if nothing else he was curious about me, about my life beyond the gates. I rose to leave, explaining that I had a long way to go that day. He said that he should get back to work too. Just before we went our separate ways, I turned to look him in the eye.

"I overheard about your girl. I'm sorry." His eyes were cold and I knew he wouldn't respond. "I think if anyone from this place has a chance at winning, it's her."

When I returned home, I was relieved to find that my mother was feeling better. This meant the trip and the medicine were unnecessary, but they would be good to have on hand, if the need ever came up again.

I mentioned meeting Gale, as casually as I could. My parents were still very worried. We'd only met two other travelers, in the time since we left 4, and that had been several districts away. I explained over and over that I had seen him hunting before, and that I was as much danger to him as he was to me. Besides I hadn't mentioned them or our home.

I was careful not to mention Katniss or the games at all. I was sure my parents must realize it was season for the games. The anniversary of Skylar's death was near. I still couldn't imagine mentioning the games to them, even the word "game" seemed poisonous.

When I told them I intended to return in a week, my father immediately refused. He kept questioning me on every word that had been exchanged. What if Gale was a spy? What if he decided to turn me in for a reward. What if someone saw him slipping into the woods, and he was followed. I was then sent out to fetch water, while my parents discussed it.

Later, after dinner, while we were all getting ready for bed. My mother told me that I could go. She said it wasn't fair for them to expect me not to be intrigued by the chance to know someone my own age, but I must remember to be careful.

"How did you convince Dad?" I asked.

"I told him that if you were anything like I was at your age, we wouldn't be able to stop you if we tried."

I didn't respond, but she was absolutely right. I had already begun to plan how I might slip away, and be halfway to 12 before they missed me.

"Is he cute?" My mother asked, with just the hint of a smile.

"He's got a girlfriend." I sidestepped the question.

"And does she know he's meeting strange women in the woods?"

"No, I don't think so." I frowned. There was no way to defend him on this point, without mentioning the games.

"Just be careful. Try to remember that he's not truly the last man on earth. I hope you'll meet many more in your lifetime."

I thought about my mother's advice as I made my way back toward 12. Clearly she saw this trip as some sort of right of passage toward womanhood. She thought I was attracted to Gale. I couldn't deny that I did feel something, an interest or intrigue, but I didn't know if it was the type of attraction she thought it was. The fact that he was in love with Katniss made it simpler not to question my own motives. Even if it was a romantic attraction, nothing would ever come of it.

Still I tried to hold on to her advice, to try and be objective.

I arrived at the clearing early on the day we had agreed to meet. I had killed a goose the day before, and it was too big to fit in my bag. I sat in the tall grass, weaving a sort of sling that would make the bird easier to carry, and protect its meat. Part of me didn't really expect him to be there. I was a little startled when he appeared silently at the edge of the tree line. The sharp breath I took, gave me the first glimpse of what his smile might look like.

We nodded a sort of greeting and he sat near me, but not beside me. I offered him the goose. "I got her yesterday. She won't be any good by the time I get home." I took the bird and wrapped it in the sling, testing the weight. It wasn't my best work, but it would hold for the day.

He hesitated before accepting the bird, but when he did a small weight seemed to lift off his shoulders. A goose that size could earn a week's worth of simpler foods in trade, or feed a large family for several nights.

After a few hours of hunting we sat down for a lunch by a small creek. Gale pulled out a bit of thin cracker like bread and I shared the roasted seeds I had brought with me. With some fresh berries, it made a fine meal.

This is when we really began to talk, first about how I came to live in the woods. I had soon revealed that I was from District 4, that I had escaped with my parents, and that we had been rich by his standards. We discussed the differences in the districts, though my memories were limited. I tried to describe the ocean to him, but even I don't have enough words to capture the sea.

He told me about his family and how he began to hunt. He did not tell me the full story, but I understood that his father had died while working in the coal mines, and that hunting had been a last resort to feed his family. He told me how he dreaded going to work in the mines the next year. He didn't explain whether he feared meeting the same end as his father or simply being trapped underground for twelve hours a day, though I suspect it was both.

When he described the mines to me, it seemed that he was describing my greatest nightmare, and perhaps his too. I couldn't imagine being so far removed from the air and the sun. I could barely stay inside the cabin during the most violent storms. The idea of Gale spending most of his waking hours, for the rest of his life, in those dark, lifeless caverns brought a chill to my bones. At least in 4, the lowest most backbreaking work was on a boat on the open ocean.

We talked much more than we hunted that day. I barely noticed the sun sinking behind the trees. It wasn't until Gale cursed under his breath and said he had to get back, or his family would be worried, that I realized how much time had passed. We agreed to meet the next day, and I spent the rest of the twilight hours hunting and gathering, in hopes that we might sit and talk again the next day.

I wasn't disappointed. When I handed over three squirrels, a small bird, and a large bushel of field greens, he took them without hesitation, but asked, "Are you buying my friendship?"

I thought before I responded, "No, not exactly, it's more that I'm buying your time. I had hoped the your company came freely."

He smiled then, a real, full, breathtaking smile. When he did, something in the pit of my stomach, told me that my mother hadn't been entirely wrong. I was grateful that he left it at that, and began telling me how much the goose had earned him. I didn't know if I could breath at that precise moment, much less speak.

We began like the day before, only hunting in a different direction, but found ourselves distracted again. Soon Gale was unloading all of his anger at the Capitol. He dreamed of running away. He yearned for revolution. Yet he saw no course of action that he could take without hurting, possibly even destroying, the people he cared about.

"My mother says she'd like to put Snow and the other Capital officials in an arena and watch them kill each other." I told him, and he gave another smile, this one somewhat sad and bitter.

"I can't disagree with that." He said.

"I don't know. If we do to them what we condemn them for, then are we any better than them?"

"It would be different." He said.

"It would still be cruel. I don't mean to absolve them, or even let them live, but we shouldn't sink so low as they have. Also I doubt a man like Snow would feel the same horror that a normal person would in the arena. I imagine he's very comfortable taking lives. And of course, if we did that, one of them would survive."

I stopped talking, when I realized all this talk of the games and of killing was souring his mood. How could I have been so insensitive to theorize such things, when the woman he loved was living them. I tried to lead the conversation to lighter subjects.

We plotted his various escape options, and I told him that my family would gladly take his in while they adjusted to life in the wilderness. He thanked me, but it was clear he had no plan to take me up on the offer. Perhaps when his sister was older, but then would his mother still be able to manage the journey.

When we sat down for lunch, he pulled out a small wedge with red wax on the end. It took me a moment to realize what it was. I had not seen cheese since I was child. He cut a slice and handed it to me, explaining that the man he'd eventually sold the goose to, had thrown in the cheese as an incentive for Gale to sell to him again.

I took a bite, and savored the strong, salty taste. "I guess there are a few perks to living inside the gates."

"We could make cheese in the wild." He said.

I shook my head. "We can hide small crops easily enough, but we can't keep animals. It would give away our location if anyone were paying attention."

"Don't you think you would have been found by now, if the Capital bothered to look wherever you happen to be?" He was right of course, the only reason we weren't found is because we were so near the District 13 border, that the Capital surveillance did not venture there routinely. But neither of us could have known that then.

"I'm sure they think we are dead. They are too arrogant to believe we escaped them and made it this far. If people from your district start fleeing, then perhaps they might find us."

"What would you do then?"

"Probably go north. My father believes that if we go further east, we'll soon hit another ocean, and as much as I'd like to see it, it's still a dead end."

"Is that something else, he read in old books?" Gale asked.

"Yes." We had discussed books the day before, but Gale couldn't quite grasp the idea of reading for pleasure. The only books he'd ever seen were school books full of half truths and propaganda from the Capitol. I got the sense he didn't trust them.

"What makes him think it's true. You said that many books were written about things that never existed or happened."

"Well yes, but usually you can tell the difference between the fiction and nonfiction books. Apparently he's seen more than one book with a land similar to Panem, with oceans on the east, west, and southern borders. I never saw them, but I trust his opinion enough, that I'd go north just in case."

We finished our lunch but didn't leave the sunny meadow. Gale sat back on his elbows and watched the sky, and I took the opportunity to let down my hair and clear out the leaves and debris that had gotten caught. I tried again to explain about books, about the power of words and ideas.

"It's not the words alone, it's the meaning, the message they carry. It's like... if I were to say to you 'May the odds be ever in your favor.'" His scowl made my point. "It's offensive. You want to hit something or scream, but it's not the words. The words are harmless, even kind, but the represent everything that is wrong with this world." He nodded. "Now imagine words that can bring on hope, or joy, or love instead of anger. Imagine what the people of Panem might be motivated to do with words like that."

"The Capitol would kill us all, before they'd let us have words like that." He answered.

When I looked up I found that he was staring at me. I thought I'd said something wrong, but then I realized he was looking at my hair. It was thick and straight, and hung to my hips then. I pretended not to notice. I'd probably have been less flattered, if he'd told me then that he had always secretly wanted to see Katniss with her hair down. When he finally did see it, she was on a screen being broadcast from the Capital.

"Then don't let them know the power of the words. No one makes any show of the anger that the Capital's words inspire. Why couldn't it be the same with hope?"

He smiled again and shook his head. "You're not like anyone I've ever met."

"No, I'm the only person you've ever met who wasn't raised in a cage."

"Do you know how lucky you are?"

"Yes, I know. Sometimes I take it for granted, especially when I think about the things I don't have, but..."

"What could you possibly want?"

I studied him, he couldn't really be that dense. "Well, this for instance. I haven't had a friend, other than my parents, in almost ten years." His face showed a bit of recognition. He was imagining his life without his siblings or Katniss. "My parents are wonderful, but they can't be everything to me. One day they'll die, and I'll be completely alone out here. I'll probably turn myself into the Capital, just to have someone to talk to."

"Do you wish that you had stayed in District 4?" He asked. I could tell that the answer was very important to him, that some part of his future might weigh on it.

"No, I think freedom is worth the price. It might be tempting some days, but I could never go back to a life like that, even if there were some way for me to rejoin society. At least here I'm allowed to wish. I can talk all day about the husband and children I won't have. Inside the gates you can't even mention freedom."

He laughed a little.

"What? Why is that funny?"

"It's not. I just feel like I've had the opposite of this conversation so many times, it's strange to hear the other side. Katniss is always saying how she never wants to be married or have kids."

"What?"

"She doesn't want to see her kids in the reaping."

"I understand that, but what about you? Do you feel the same way? She can't make a decision like that for both of you. You have as much right to..." I stopped short. I was missing something, something very important, something it pained him to talk about.

"It's her decision to make." He said avoiding my gaze. "We're not together. We're just friends. Her decision to marry, or not marry, is none of my business."

I tried to make sense of what he was saying. He'd never said they were a couple, but this was the first time he denied it. I'd seen them together and I'd heard the talk in the warehouse. It still made no sense."But you're in love with her?" It sounded more like an accusation than a question.

His face darkened, and it was obvious. He

love her, but she... what? She didn't know or didn't care? How could that be? I looked at him, still stretched in the grass. He was sullen and tense, and still so beautiful. How could she ignore him? What was wrong with her?

I was flooded with emotions. The strange desire in my stomach twisted with jealousy and anger. How could she hurt him like that, to go off and die in the games without ever acknowledging his love. It was cruel. Gale was wasted on her.

"How could anyone be so blind?" I wondered out loud. It was insensitive, and I could see the words wounded him. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to disrespect your..." What was she? She wasn't his girl. I found it hard to even imagine her his friend. "I just can't understand." I stood and turned my back to him. Part of me wanted to run away, but my head was still spinning.

I realized Gale was standing at my side. I must have seemed crazy to him. Why should I care if Katniss Everdeen wanted to marry him or not? I turned to face him, to say something-anything, but I couldn't look at him. When he put his hand on my cheek, it was like sparks under my skin. He lifted my face until our eyes met.

"Have I been blind?" He asked.

My cheek burned under his hand, and I shook my head just slightly. When I did, his thumb brushed me lips. "I didn't want you to see. I..."

Then his lips were on mine, smothering any explanation I might have given. As soon as he kissed me, everything else was gone. There was no anger, no fear, no Katniss, no Capital. There was just him, and my body melting into his, as the need in my stomach filled my limbs. The more I gave into it, the stronger it got, and the tighter I clung to him.

I didn't know that this was what my mother had warned me about. I didn't realize that, having never needed to show self restraint or modesty, I was completely unprepared for this. I didn't know what I was getting into or the pain I was opening myself up to.

I couldn't see how my physical response had captivated him. Gale had only ever dreamt of kissing Katniss, and even in his mind, she wouldn't yield to him as completely as I had. I didn't know that Katniss had kissed another tribute, live on national television, the night before, and that this might have been Gale's revenge. I certainly didn't know that the man kissing me, was a stark contrast to the Gale Hawthorne that had trudged through District 12 ever since the reaping. I didn't see that the woods and I had become his escape from reality. I only knew that the sparks under my skin had caught fire, and I let the flames take me.

I don't know how long we kissed. It could have been minutes or days. The sun could have set and risen again, and I would not have noticed. When our lips finally parted, it was disorienting, like waking from a dream. My limbs felt strange now, as if they were unaccustomed to being independent from his. My lips tingled, and my jaw and neck ached. His fingers were tangled deep in my hair and I pulled his hand with me, as I lay my head on his chest.

We did our best to hunt, and check the traps, but not touching was almost unbearable, especially as the sun began to set. We made plans to go further into the woods the next day, to a place where the deer were abundant. If we got a large buck, he could take home as much as he could carry and I would take the rest. He'd warn his mother that he might not be home that night.

It was so dark by the time he went back to 12 that I couldn't have hunted. It was hard to sleep or even sit still, without reliving every kiss and impatiently anticipating the next. When morning finally came, I combed through my hair with my fingers again, and let it fall over my shoulders, like it had the day before. I sat on a thick, low hanging tree branch, directly in the path from 12 to our clearing.

Gale was earlier than usual. The look on his face, when he saw me, assured me that it was not just in preparation for the long hike ahead of us. He reached up, and pulled me from the tree into his arms. My feet never had a chance to touch the ground. My arms and legs wrapped around him, and I matched the intensity of his kisses.

We made good time, both on our best behavior. We discussed winemaking and how Gale had never tasted alcohol. We exchanged trapping tips and debated how tight to make fishing nets. We talked about so many things that day, that I'm sure I don't remember half of it now.

We knew we were getting close, when we started finding dear tracks. We decided to find a campsite first. We found a deep rock shelter, with a clear view of the sky, not far from a flowing creek, before starting the hunt. Every animal we came across, was either too small to justify the trip or too large to be carried back. By the time it began to get dark, we were both frustrated and ready to give it a rest.

After dinner we both felt better. We'd still have plenty of time to hunt in the morning, but the night was ours to fill. Before long we were wrapped around each other, kissing and whispering sweet words. I was surprised when he pulled away.

"What's wrong?" I asked, resting my hand on his, but not forcing him to close the gap between us.

"Nothing, this is perfect. You're perfect. It's just..."

I waited, but he didn't finish, so I finished for him. "I'm not Katniss, and you're still in love with her."

He scowled, saying her name must have brought back a bit of the reality he was avoiding. "I feel like I'm cheating on someone, but I don't know who."

"Gale, which one of us do you think this is hurting? Do you think she expects you to wait for her, or that I expect you to forget her?"

"Don't you?"

"No. I don't believe that feelings for one person cancel out feelings for another. I'm not asking you to choose. Even if there were no Katniss, our time would be limited. We're from different worlds. We're both risking our lives every time we meet, it can't go on forever."

He seemed stunned, like he'd he'd thought we'd be meeting in the woods until we were too old to hunt. I thought he was going to argue with me, but instead he asked, "And that doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it does, but I'm not going to let that ruin what's happening right now. I see what she does to you. I'd be a fool to let you do the same to me, but this may be the only chance I ever have to be in love. I'm not going to cheat myself out of it, because it might hurt."

"You're in love with me?" He grinned.

"Either that, or I was wrong about those mushrooms."

His laughter shook both of us. "Well, I didn't have the mushrooms. I must love you too."

His decision was clear, when he rolled on top of me and smothered me in kisses. Even the laces on my clothes didn't give us much pause after that. We made love three times that night, and again that morning. We held each other, during the few hours of broken sleep we did manage.

In the morning our first attempt to break camp was a complete failure, that ended in with us in a sweaty heap against the rocks. We mustered up all our willpower to leave our little shelter and pay attention to the deer. I think we both knew we'd never have another night like that. Almost as soon as we started looking, we found the perfect deer, and took her down with two clean shots under her shoulder.

We dressed her and divided up the meat, then went our separate ways, promising to meet at the clearing again the next day. I rushed home, delivering the meat to my parents, and changing into my only other set of hunting clothes. My father seemed too bewildered to protest. My mother followed me around, asking questions with an amused look on her face.

"Well what happened?"

"We shot a deer." I answered.

"What else?"

"I had cheese. It was wonderful, I'd all but forgotten the taste."

"And...?"

"He doesn't have a girlfriend." I smiled and explained further. "I thought he did, but he didn't."

"Does he have one now?" My mother raised her brow.

"Maybe?" I blushed.

"Do we get to meet him?"

"Mom, he's got responsibilities in 12, he can't make the trip all the way out here."

"So should we expect to only see you, when you need a change of clothes from now on?"

I turned back to look at her, from the cabinet of food I had been digging through. "No, of course not. I... I just, well I just need to be back tomorrow, but I'll stay home longer after that."

"What's happening tomorrow?" She asked.

"Nothing really, it's just when we agreed to meet again."

"Well, at least stay and eat some of this." She pointed to the deer leg, she'd already put over the fire.

"Ok." I nodded. It would already be hard enough to make it make back overnight, but I didn't want to upset her. I picked a bag of dry fruit and some dried snake meat from the cabinet, before reaching for one of the wineskins my father kept. "Can I take this?"

She seemed surprised at my request. "Special occasion?" She asked.

"No. He's never had wine, and I think he'd like it."

"Ask your father, it's his wine."

That was an awkward conversation. There are a few things my father can't talk about, but almost nothing he can't joke about. So instead of asking me about Gale, he just kept teasing me. "I know you're ornery, but you shouldn't have to get him drunk to make him like you." Even after he said I could take the wine, he didn't let up. After we ate, I packed everything in my sack. As I stuffed the wine in, along with my water flask, he told me. "You know, too much of that will impair more than his judgement."

I had no idea what he meant, but my mother laughed with him. "Clark, leave her alone. We want her to come back, besides I don't think teenagers have those issues."

"We certainly never did." He winked back at her.

I thought, that maybe I got the joke then, but I tried not to think about it. I couldn't imagine my parents as teenagers. I had seen pictures of them, but they didn't seem like the same people. I couldn't imagine the passion I felt for Gale, becoming the content bond that my parents seemed to share. I felt a twinge of sadness as I realized, I'd probably never know what our passion could turn into.

I didn't rest at all, on my way back to the woods outside of 12. As I travelled through the darkness I wondered what sort of future we would have. How long would we keep meeting like this? If Katniss came home, would that be the end of us? If she didn't come home, what would that mean? He'd start work in the mines, in less than a year. Surely that wouldn't leave him any time for me.

I made it to our clearing a few hours before dawn, and lay down in the grass to rest. When I woke, the sun was up and Gale was watching me. I smiled when I saw him, and pulled him down for a kiss.

"Did you get a good price for the deer?" I asked, when he trailed his lips down my neck.

"Mmmmhmmm" He nodded against my throat, his fingers wrestling with a different set of laces than he'd learned the night before.

We didn't hunt much that day. I was tired from my journey, and he was as eager to "rest" as I was. When I showed him the wine, he seemed wary. The only people he knew who drank alcohol, were drunks and dirty peacekeepers. He didn't seem all that impressed with the taste, and he certainly didn't have enough to cause any sort of impairment.

We parted at dusk, and I hunted for several hours, to supplement the small amount he had taken home that night. I slept early, and woke with the dawn. I had some breakfast, and hunted until the time he usually arrived. I didn't worry too much, when he wasn't there at the usual time, but when the sun was high overhead, a very different feeling knotted in my stomach.

What if someone had seen him leaving, or coming back? What if someone had noticed his absence the night before? I tried to tell myself that he was probably just busy. Perhaps his mother needed him home that day. I sat in the clearing all day, waiting. That night I lay wide awake in the little cave, finally falling into anxious sleep a few hours before dawn.

When he didn't come to the clearing the next morning, I was sure something terrible had happened. He had been arrested. He had been injured somehow, and couldn't come. What would his family do without the food he brought? I didn't even know where he lived, and certainly couldn't go into the city looking for him.

I hovered around the edge of the forest, as close to the gate as possible, and watched the city. No one seemed to be alarmed or mourning. In fact they seemed oddly cheerful. They stopped and exchanged animated words that I couldn't hear, as they went about their usual work.

When I saw the camera crew, it hit me; Katniss must have returned. She'd won the games, and in his excitement, Gale had forgotten me. I am ashamed to admit that I found this idea just as horrific as his death. I couldn't believe that I meant so little to him.

I stood in the treeline watching the little neighborhood for hours. The sky darkened, thunder clapped, and rain began to fall, and I watched the people of District 12 scurry into whatever shelter they had. I could barely make out the empty streets beyond the fence, through the driving rain, but I couldn't make myself move.

Finally, as the sun set, and sky became so dark that I could barely make my way through the trees, much less see into Gale's world, I walked numbly back to the cave. Just inside the opening in the stone, I lay and wept. Images of Gale imprisoned ran across my mind, chased by the thought of him in Katniss's arms, and then by the thought of him in a grave. I didn't even know what I was mourning, or whether he deserved to be mourned.

The rain was still coming down in sheets, when I sensed movement outside the cave. I looked up just in time to see Gale duck inside and almost trip over me.

"Leela?"

Outside, lighting lit the sky just long enough for me to clearly see the concern on his face, and the tiny beads of rain dripping from his hair down his forehead. He was drenched, and his clothes clung to him as tight as I ever had.

"I was afraid you were dead, or arrested, or..."

"There are camera crews all over town. I couldn't..."

I didn't let him finish. I didn't care what his reasons were. He was safe and he was beside me. Nothing else mattered. I launched myself at him, pawing at his soaked clothing. I devoured him, savoring and memorizing every inch of him, so that I might have the memory to comfort and haunt me the rest of my life. Somehow, I knew that this would be the last time.

Before he left that night, Gale told me that the cameras were there because the games were over. Somehow Katniss and the boy from 12 were both allowed to live. He seemed surprised when I responded happily, and then angry when I asked "What? Did you think I wanted her dead?". I told him I had to go home. He said I didn't have to, that it would be weeks before Katniss came home.

I almost laughed, when he said he wanted me to meet her. I had no intention of befriending my competition. Besides, the girl had been through enough without having to deal with my misdirected hatred. I told Gale I'd be back soon to trade, and left it at that.

When I saw him again, over a year had passed, and the whole world had changed. My family and I had been forced from our cabin, as the revolution sent more and more people into the wilderness. The refugees led the Capitol right towards us, in their search for the fabled District 13.

You can imagine our shock, as we traveled away from 12, to find ourselves at the gates of 13. We were welcomed in with open arms, and spent almost a month in the city. I thought it would be longest month of my life. I hated the rigid schedule, menu, and dress code, but never going outside was the part I just couldn't bear.

We had heard talk of a large camp near by, full of refugees who did not intend to trade one oppressor for another. They were 13's allies, but refused to be their citizens. There were about fifty of them when we joined them. Most middle aged people, but a few my age, and a few older than my parents, all were skilled and stubborn enough to survive the wilderness. We fit in in perfectly.

We had heard the bombing of 12, and had enough communication with 13 to know how the 75th Hunger Games had ended. I watched every night for a week as the fires lit the distant sky, fueled by the coal mines. It seemed impossible that anyone could have survived.

I was hanging laundry, on a clothesline I'd made myself, out of pipes and debris salvaged from the wreckage of the original District 13. There was a commotion on the far end of the campgrounds, and I looked up to see a mob of 12's survivors spilling into a clearing. At the front of the group was Gale, following one of the men from our camp.

I don't remember dropping the laundry, only that I had to rewash it all. I only have a vague recollection of shouting his name, and running across the camp towards him. But I remember the look of surprise, relief, and joy on his face, when he saw me. I remember him coming forward to catch me in his arms, and swing me around by the waist.

"We saw the bombing. I thought you were..." I didn't have to finish the sentence.

"I thought you were too, when I saw your cabin." He nodded, his face brushing mine.

"What about your family? Did they get out?" I asked.

The question seemed to remind him that we were not alone. He pulled back to a civilized distance, but took me by the hand to introduce me to his mother, sister, and brothers who had been astonished by our reunion. He also introduced me to the Everdeens, who had been traveling with them.

"It's an honor to meet all of you." I said. "You must be starving, lets..." I was cut off by the look on Mrs. Hawthorn's face, a recognition mixed with disbelief. I followed her gaze behind me, and saw that my parents had joined us. Gale's mother was staring at the bundle in my mother's arms. I turned back to introduce them. "This is my mother Marina and my father Clark." I told them, and then took the cooing bundle from my mother and brought it forward. "And this is Gale."

I didn't see anyone else's reaction. I was only focused on Gale. He looked stunned, as he stared down at the baby in my arms. Everyone else was silent.

"I wanted to tell you, but I was so sick, and then I couldn't have gone, and then of course I was nursing, and when I finally made it back, the fence was on and there were peacekeepers everywhere. I couldn't..."

"Leela, I'm not mad." He took his eyes off his son, just long enough to smile at me. "Can I hold him?"

"Of course." I carefully placed him in his arms.

It was impossible for me to be objective about Gale, when he was holding our son. They were a matching set. Who cared if he was in love with Katniss, he clearly belonged with us. Visions of us as a family, starting our own little camp when the war was over, and having more children flashed through my mind. It seemed that everything I ever wanted was within my grasp.

After Gale showed the baby off to his family, we left the grandmothers to get to know each other and began making arrangements for the over 500 refugees that has survived the bombing and the trip through the forest. For the next 2 days we built temporary shelters, hunted, gathered, and began to show those who wanted to learn how to care for themselves.

On the third night we feasted and celebrated. Those with instruments played, and others danced. After I put little Gale down for the night, big Gale and I escaped into the woods. I had planned to take him to a secluded spot where I used to bathe, but the minute we hidden by the forest, we were all over each other. We stumbled backwards and sideways, trying to cover some ground without letting our lips part. It's amazing we didn't injure ourselves.

We ended up nestled at the base of a huge tree. Half of our clothes were off, and he was deftly pulling at the laces of my pants, as if he'd never stopped, when I told him to wait. It came out as a halfhearted mumble, that didn't even convince me. As he worked the leather down my hips, I had to struggle to remember why I wanted him to stop.

"Wait," I finally blurted out. "We can't do this."

"Why?" He asked, confused. "Are you... bleeding?" He lifted his hands to my waist as he said it.

"No." I laughed at him.

"Were you injured giving birth?"

I laughed harder. Were those really the top two reasons he could think of, why I might not want to have sex with him. I could tell he was getting frustrated. "I can't get pregnant again. There's a war going on. I can't protect Gale, if I can't even protect myself."

"I'll protect you, both of you." He pulled me closer, and I knew that in that moment he meant it.

"What about Katniss?" I asked.

He tensed "I don't even know if she's alive."

"That's not a reason to be with me."

He sighed. "I'll always care about Katniss, but she can't offer me this. She only knows how to fight and protect. I'd have to be on my death bed to get her to hold me, the way you are right now. You have my son. She can't compete with that."

I had never heard him speak an ill word of Katniss, and even though it made sense, it surprised me. I still doubted he'd have the same conviction if he was sure she was alive. "What about the war?"

"What about it? That's all the more reason I should be here with you."

"Gale, you've been dreaming about this revolution all your life. You're young and strong, and you have more reason to fight than anyone."

"I can't leave my family, any of you."

"Look around, the only people our age in this camp are either missing limbs, or mothers who need to be with their 're safe here. When you see that, when you really believe it, you'll join the fight."

He thought about. Maybe it was a new idea to him, the thought of not having to protect his mother and siblings. "What if I did go fight? Why shouldn't I be with my wife and son before I go?"

"Wife?" I sputtered. "Was that a proposal, or do you just assume I'll marry you?"

"We have a child. Why wouldn't we get married?"

"Because you're in love with Katniss? Because we haven't even spoken in over a year. I don't even know what you want from a wife. Do you? We're not just going to play house. You don't get to be a dad, unless you're sure that's what you want."

"You never wanted to be together, did you? You just wanted a baby. I ruined everything by showing up here."

"That's ridiculous. You know I want you, but I can't just do what I want. I have to think of Gale. I have to protect him."

"Protect him from what? What do you think I'm going to do?"

"Gale, you lost your dad. You know exactly what I'm protecting him from."

"So that's it? I don't get to know my son, because you're afraid I'll die. I have no say?"

"You can prove that you mean it. Stick around. Make me believe this is really what you want, and it's yours, everything I've got."

I kissed him. I didn't know how to make him understand any better than that. He kissed me back, and I was seriously considering sleeping with him again, just once, when we heard the hovercraft. We saw it move over head, I couldn't make out if it belonged to 13 or the Capitol, but it was headed toward camp. I at least had the forethought to grab Gale's shirt before I took off running.

As I entered a small clearing, where people had been dancing and drinking earlier that night, I saw a rugged blonde man stepping off the craft. I caught his attention immediately and he smirked. I had barely gotten the shirt on, while I ran, and the few buttons I'd fastened were not aligned, leaving one of my hips mostly exposed and a gaping neckline on the the other side.

"Well this is a warmer welcome than I expected." He smirked.

I ignored this remark. "What are you doing here? Why did you land so close to our camp? You could have been followed."

"We're in a hurry, won't be staying long. We're looking for any survivors from District 12, particularly the family of Katniss Everdeen."

"Katniss?" I gaped. "Is she... " I couldn't even ask. I didn't want him to tell me if she was dead. He should be telling Gale or Katniss's mother, but not me.

"How do you know Katniss?" He meant, was I some stupid fan who knew her from the games or someone who'd actually met her. I didn't know how to respond. I wasn't either. Gale bursting into the clearing was all the explanation I needed. I hadn't left him with a lot of options. He was shirtless, carrying all my clothes and our shoes.

The blonde man's face darkened, and he nodded. "A friend of the family I see." I didn't realize that he knew Gale was supposed to be in love with Katniss, or that Gale had been dubbed her 'cousin' for the cameras, but I didn't have a chance to ask what his response meant.

"Haymitch," Gale said as he walked towards us. "Where is she?"

"Not here. She's alive, but she could use a friendly face."

I looked up at Gale with a bitter grin. "See, I told you, you weren't staying." I took my clothes and walked away. Whatever they had to discuss didn't concern me.

They must have talked a while, or maybe Gale had taken his time saying his goodbyes. I had fed and changed Gale, and was putting him back down when there was a knock on the door. It was his father. He'd found another shirt somewhere, and as I handed the other one back to him tears began to roll down my face, and he pulled me into his arms.

"I'm sorry. I should have just let you say all those sweet things. If I'd known we had so little time, I wouldn't have wasted it arguing."

"We'll have more time." He kissed me, and I believed him.

I walked with him to the hovercraft, where his family and the Everdeens were waiting as well. Haymitch rolled his eyes as Gale started down the line, giving hugs, and making promises. I watched quietly, feeling very much the outsider. When he came to me, the last one in line I began to cry again, harder than before, the emotion of all the other goodbyes feeding into my own sadness.

"Please don't cry." He wiped the tears from my eyes.

"I'm not Katniss. I can't do this without crying." I told him, shocking the loved ones standing near by and drawing a short low laugh from the man waiting by the hovercraft. Gale only nodded, I knew he knew what I meant. He kissed me again. It was time for him to go. "If this is really what you want, we'll be here when you get back." I told him as he walked away.

He never came back. He never sent any message. The rest of his family and most of the District 12 survivors went to 13 within the week. I couldn't blame them. 13 sounded like utopia until you were actually there, getting you life tattooed on your arm every day. I don't know how long Gale was at 13 before the bombing.

The night that the Capitol bombed 13, my father and I were hunting with 4 other men. We were only a days hike from camp. I was awake at midnight, walking in the forest. The early

morning hours, were the only that I had to myself. Most nights I took Gale with me on my walks and talked to him and told him about the forest. Sometimes I'd dip our feet into the stream where I bathed or lay in the grass watching the stars.

But that night I was miles away, my mother and Gale were in their beds. I heard the explosion, before I saw it. I tried to tell myself the target had been 13, but could see the fire coming from our camp and larger fires burning farther away in 13. As my father and the others woke and tried to decide what to do next, I took of running.

I don't know how long it took me to cover same distance our party had traveled that day, but I didn't stop. I didn't slow down. I ran until my muscles and lungs burned and I thought I would collapse. As I ran, 2 more waves of bombs fell over 13, but not our little camp. We were no longer a threat. When I reached the clearing I saw why.

Most of the camp was black crater, with clumps of smoldering ashes and debris. I knew where our hut had been, because my clothesline was stuck twisting out of the ground. When I was standing in the debris that should have been our home, I did collapse, but not from fatigue. There was nothing left, but I couldn't believe it.

I sifted through the splinters and ash, until my fingers began to blister, and then bleed. Bits of embers burned holes in my clothes and stung my skin. I had crawled all the way to the edge of the crater, and found nothing that wasn't charred beyond recognition.

They said they found me in the crater. There hadn't been enough fire or smoke to kill me, but left me with small 2nd and 3rd degree burns over most of my body, and chunks missing from my hair. My hands were much worse, there was almost no skin left and what was left, hung in oozing red clumps.

When I woke the pain was like nothing I had ever felt before, a crushing burning that filled my whole body. Pain so heavy that I couldn't release it with tears. It was unbearable, so excruciating that I was sure I would die from it, at any moment, but the moments dragged on and death never came.

Someone drugged me and I slept again. It was little relief, filled dreams almost as haunting as reality.

When I woke again I felt the extent of the burns for the first time. The other pain was there, not better, but dulled by the drugs and changing from the urgent excruciating pain, to a steady unwavering misery. Now I knew it wouldn't kill me, that I would live with it forever.

My father was there, in a lab coat. He had thrown himself into work in 13's hospital. to cope with his loss. He was telling me something about infection and nerve damage, about how long I had been there, and how much longer I'd have to stay. I didn't grasp any of it. He didn't say anything about Gale or my mother. He didn't have to.

When he left the tears came. There were not enough drugs in the world to stop them. They ran down soaking the bandages around my face and down my neck. I pulled my arms to my chest, and the pain in my hands made me gasp. It was a welcome release. I moved one finger, and savored the pain, before methodically moving the next, and the next, until I lost consciousness.

I stirred from a nightmare, and found Gale sitting by my bed. His eyes were red and puffy, and he had the slump of someone who had been sitting in the awful hospital chair too long. When I saw him, I was filled with another emotion. I clung to it, I would have clung to anything that wasn't pain.

"Gale" I rasped, the name burned throat. From then on the man in front of me was Hawthorne, and the name was reserved only for my memories.

He moved forward, meaning to comfort me, but afraid to touch me. I beckoned him forward. No, it didn't hurt, I told him. I needed him to hold me. He perched on the thin sterile bed, and I rolled into him. Then I let the rage flow through me, first in small hits, and eventually letting it take over.

"Where were you?" I whispered, pulling myself against his chest. "Where were you when it happened?"

"We were here, in the bunkers."

"Were you with her?" I asked, my voice growing steadier.

He looked wounded. "There was barely any warning, we almost didn't get everyone in."

"Did you try to warn us? Did you try to get them to come to the bunker?" I was on top of him, staring down at him.

"There was no time. We had no reason to think..." His explanations meant nothing to me. There was no excuse, even if he knew he wouldn't succeed he should have died trying, before letting them die. He should have been there. We both should have been there to die with them.

"You said you'd protect us! YOU SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED HIM!" My hands were on his throat, I couldn't grasp through the bandages but pushed against his windpipe with all my strength. He was shocked, staring up at me horrified, trying to pull away without hurting me.

We tumbled off the bed onto the hard tile. Our faces knocked together. One of us was bleeding. I pulled myself up and pressed my elbow into his neck, pushing against it with all of my power and weight until his face began to darken. He pushed me away, but I scrambled back, beating him with my bandaged hands. "YOU SAID YOU'D PROTECT US!" I screamed over and over.

As someone pulled me off of him, I kicked and swung. Blood was seeping through the cloth around my hands and it splattered over him. I felt the shot, and my consciousness quickly fading. "You'll wish I was dead too." I told him as the drugs overtook me.

I came to, in a different room. The psych ward. All of my bandages were gone, except for those on my hands, and I spent a long time studying the pock marks and pink, puffy, rippled scars. I squeezed my hands into fists, and the pain was not as satisfying as it had been before.

"They'll never heal if you keep doing that." Came a gentle voice from the doorway.

The last person I expected to see standing there was Primrose Everdeen. She carried in a tray of food, and sat beside my bed to help me eat it. She started the conversation by complimenting my dad, and telling me how much help he had been, before covering the reconstruction and the weather. I stared at her, eating the bland soup and gnawing at bits of chewy bread.

The next day she came again, at the same time, with a different soup and the same bread. This went on for about a week, just long enough that I was no longer stunned to see her when she appeared. I still barely spoke, but I didn't hate her. It was impossible to hate Prim.

One day, in the middle of my soup she began to tell me about the night the bombs fell. She explained how Peta Melark had risked his life to warn them. I had caught enough gossip and Capitol broadcasts to understand who Peta was, and I began to see why Katniss might consider the kid over Hawthorn.

"He was making sure I got to the bunker." She said eventually, though I couldn't understand what she meant. "I had gone to our room, to get the cat, Gale came to bring me underground."

Why was she telling me? Was I supposed to blame her, instead of him? She must have known what I had done to Hawthorn. I was stronger now, and she was so tiny. I could have killed her easily, but I had no desire to hurt Prim.

"Did he send you here?" I asked.

"No, I just thought you should know. He really didn't have time."

"He still should have tried."

"They wouldn't have let him out."

"He didn't even TRY. I could accept if he'd done everything he could to reach us, and they'd stopped him, but he didn't do anything."

To my surprise she didn't argue with me. She didn't sing his praises for protecting her, or his family, or her sister. She just nodded, a sad sort of acknowledgement, and let the subject drop. Prim came back, every day that I was in the hospital, even after I could feed myself. She was the one that warned me not to mention I could cook, unless I wanted to spend a lot of time in the kitchen.

When my hands were finally healed, they sedated for a long procedure that was supposed to be incredibly painful, but would regenerate my nerves and help the skin grafts take. It worked. I was almost completely weaned off the drugs, and the physical pain was gone. I took some pleasure in feeding myself and brushing what was left of my hair, for the first time in months.

I thought the high point would be bathing myself. After so long in the woods, even the small showers, that shut off automatically after 2 minutes, seemed luxurious. My hair had grown a bit, but still didn't quite hang to my shoulders. I marveled at my hands as the water fell over them. I could feel every drop. It seemed impossible that there was no sign of them ever being burned. My fingernails were perfect, and longer than they'd ever been before.

I couldn't find the scar on my palm, from catching a fish hook in my hand as a child. I could not tell where the skin graft began and my own skin started. I was shocked to discover there were no longer any freckles on my arms, from all the time I'd spent in the sun. I moved back from the water and looked for evidence of the scraped knees and elbows of my childhood. I stepped out of the shower and into the light. Nothing remained of all the years running and climbing in the woods.

This wasn't my skin. This skin had never been lived in. Then I saw my breasts and my belly. The pink-tan tiger stripes, from carrying and feeding my son, were gone. There was no trace of him. It was like he'd never been there. I heard screaming but didn't realized it was my own.

I was running, still dripping, sliding on the tile floors as I tore through the hallway. Someone tried to catch me and I slipped out of their grasp, swinging at them as I pulled away. There was a man in a lab coat stepping off the elevator, and I dove past him.

Another man stood in the small metal cube. I recognized him, but I didn't know where from. He caught me by the shoulders, obviously unsure what else to do. Even in the standard grey 13 uniform, I knew he wasn't one of them.

"They took everything." I told him. "Even the scars."

Haymitch shook his. "The scars don't go away."

That was the last time they had to knock me out with the heavy drugs. They seemed to think I was making progress, but I felt like I was only learning to stifle the urges to fight or flee. Maybe that was progress.

They released me from the hospital, though I still saw a therapist twice a week, and I moved into the small family quarters that my father had been assigned. Even with 2 of us there, and our few standard issued possessions, the little apartment felt enormous. Neither of us had the spirit to fill it up.

I showed up for meals, but otherwise ignored the schedule on my arm. Usually I just wandered the campus. Sometimes I would sit in a class or program, just to see what they were teaching. Of course, my formal education had come from Capitol regulated texts and curriculum, so I couldn't refute any of what they taught here. I imagine the truth fell somewhere in between.

It wasn't even a week, before an official looking woman came to visit, and impress upon me the importance of cooperating. This was a difficult adjustment for me. What could she do to help the transition? What were my interests and skills? Surely there was a place for me in a city as large at 13.

I resisted the urge to hit her or run away. I didn't even tell her that my only current interest was killing Gale Hawthorn. Instead, I surprised us both. "I want to fight in the war." I told her.

"I see." She paused, considering her response. "It's not quite that simple. Soldiers go through a great deal of training and evaluation. Do you have any combat experience?"

"No."

"Here's what I can do. We'll sign you up with the next class of new soldiers. I think there's a group starting on Monday. We'll let the instructors determine if it's a good fit for you."

It turned out to be a great fit. The first series of classes was about survival skills and first aid, scheduled around daily physical training. The instructors soon tired of me correcting them, and bumped me up to the next class, hand to hand combat.

My mother's grace, my father's speed and accuracy, and my incessant need to kick the crap out of something made me a natural. Within a week, I handed over to a private instructor, who began to teach more advanced techniques and martial artistry. I still had to keep up with the other skills, but I knew there was no way they'd kick me out of the program.

The only problem with my new schedule was the change is mealtimes. I found myself arriving at the cafeteria while Katniss and her entourage were still at the tables reserved for District 12 survivors. With only 5 other survivors from our camp, my father and I had also been assigned to 12's area.

Most days I dawdled and managed to avoid the entire group, but an encounter was inevitable. It happened while she and Hawthorn were taking their trays. I had seen them leave the tables and made my move, only to cross their path as they left.

We all stopped, and the tray in my hand trembled with the effort it took, not to attack him again. He nodded, and I glared at him. Then I looked at Katniss. It was the first time I'd had a chance to size her up in person. She was pretty. She looked tired. She clearly had no idea who I was, and I wondered if he had ever even mentioned me.

"Hey Katniss, how's your cat?" I asked.

Hawthorn's face paled. Katniss furrowed her brow. "Have we met?"

"No, Gale made sure of that."

Gale bristled at this. I didn't know if he was protecting himself or her, but I hated him for it. I hated him for everything. I imagined taking the cheap fork from my tray and tearing open his carotid artery. I could have done it. It would have been easier without her standing there, and I'd have had to move very fast, but I could have killed him then. He ushered her away, and I gritted my teeth until he was out of reach.

I made it through initial training, in record time, and passed all of my exams with ease. I was assigned to a squad that was supposed to be sent to the Capitol, but we never made it there. After weeks of training together and studying the Capitol's defenses, we were told that we'd be going to District 2. They said we'd be keeping the peace and maintaining rebel hold of the district, but we were really being dismissed.

2 was still integral to the battle, because of it's huge stockpile of weapons and proximity to the Capitol. The rebel base held an odd mix of loose cannons, incompetents, and those too injured to be useful but not injured enough to be sent home. Of the roughly 100 of us stationed at our base, one of 3 in the district, less than a fourth were women. Instead of getting myself killed, the way I'd hoped, I got to cook three meals a day for increasingly bored and bitter soldiers.

I would have gone on a shooting spree within a week, if not for Friday nights. That was when everyone got together for one on one "training". Those who didn't fight traded bets on the two that were in the ring, and the few merchants and vendors still doing business in the the district, kept us in white liquor and ale.

I signed up to fight anyone who would take me on, first those who wanted an easy win, then those who wanted a rematch, and eventually everyone wanted to take me on. I didn't always win, but I won often enough to earn a reputation and enough money to keep myself drunk every other night of the week.

There was a select group of us who attempted to drink our way through the district's entire remaining stash of alcohol. Haymitch Abernathy was one of us. He was stationed there, so that he could answer the Mockingjay's beckon call if it came, and because they were tired of trying to manage him in 13. I was there, because I was more likely to set off a trap and get my whole squad killed, than actually protect any of our lives.

I only knew Haymitch as someone who knew Hawthorn from 12, and as Katniss and Peeta's trainer for the games, the only other living tribute from 12. He never mentioned the elevator incident, though he must have remembered it, and I certainly never brought it up. He took to calling me "friend", in reference to the night Hawthorn had come running out of the woods, half clothed, and I took to glaring at him, before returning my attention to the bottle at hand.

He never came to the Friday night tournaments. I supposed being a tribute would put anyone off of violence for sport. He always seemed to be there, when I was about to take all of my anger out on some poor guy who was stupid enough to hit on me. This happened almost every night, like I said there was a short supply of females on base.

One night a particularly obnoxious would be suitor, must have thought that we were alone in the lounge. He cornered me against a counter top, where I was perched, tossing empty bottle caps through a hole in the wall. I gave him plenty of warning, and even told him that if the touched me I'd break his arm. He touched me anyways. Haymitch stirred from behind the couch, and came to my rescue at the same time I heard the satisfying crunch of the bastard's arm.

I looked up proudly, as Haymitch shook his head, and the other guy held his arm to his chest, fighting back tears. "Maybe you should drink with me, from now on." Haymitch said.

"Why? You think you can take me?" I asked, sizing him up.

"I think if you keep breaking bones, they're going to take you back to 13 and lock you up."

So, we started sitting near each other while we drank, sometimes we'd even talk. I don't know whether it was his bark or my bite, but the change was enough to keep other guys far enough at bay, that I never had an excuse to hit them. Sitting with Haymitch, nursing a drink, is the first time I can remember laughing again. It wasn't real laughter, only a bitter imitation of a laugh, and it only came at others' expense, but it was a start.

I'd gotten in another fight, this time with a guy assigned to kitchen duty with me. He was born and raised in 13, and could not accept that I Iet people people serve their own portions of soup, and even come back for seconds. We had both been given warnings, and of course he got out of kitchen duty. That night Haymitch teased me about starting fights.

"You've got too much pent up aggression. You need an outlet."

I just shrugged and grunted at him. He was right. I'd have fought everyone on base all day long, if it wouldn't have landed me back in the psych ward. There weren't a whole lot of other outlets available on a military base.

"You need to pick one of those horny soldiers and screw his brains out. That would calm you right down." He laughed.

I rolled my eyes at. "Not going to happen."

"Why not? You still holding out hope that she'll pick Peeta, and cousin Gale will come running back to you?"

The name was like a knife in my chest, but I didn't let him see. I just looked at my bottle, like always. "Whoever she picks, Hawthorn's got nothing to run back to here. I hope he's in the Capitol, being tortured to death right now."

I saw Haymitch give a long nod, out of the corner of my eye. He thought I was being dramatic. That was probably for the best. "So, he put you off men entirely?", he asked.

"It's not the men, it's the potential consequences." I wondered if he understood, but couldn't find the words to explain that I would never have another child.

"Well, if this war ever ends, there's a surgery for that." He said.

"What?" I thought he'd misunderstood me, but what kind of surgery could he be thinking of?

"It's a common thing in the Capitol. Either people can't afford children or women don't want to lose their figures. Most winning tributes have it done as soon as they get paid. Not many would risk their own children ending up in the Arena."

I stared at him. "They can do that?"

"Sure. It may be more complicated for the girls, but when I went, it didn't even take an hour."

"Wait... you've had it done?"

"It's the only good thing I ever did with all that money."

"You can't have kids?" I said it plainly. I needed to be certain I understood him.

"Nope."

I set my bottle on the crate, where I'd been resting my feet. I was in his lap before he could protest. With my knees on either side of him, but without resting my full weight on him, I planted a quick exploratory kiss on his still lips.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Exactly what you suggested." I pulled my shirt over my head and let it fall beside him. My standard issue gray bra, wasn't exactly pretty, but the extra skin seemed to grab his attention. When I leaned in for another kiss, his lips met mine, cautious but willing.

After only a second, he pushed me away. "I don't want to be wrapped up in one of these love triangles."

"Haymitch, I told you, there is no other angle." It occurred to me that if Hawthorn were dead I wouldn't ever have to have this conversation again. "And besides this isn't love. It's more of a hobby."

We sat that way for a moment. I was growing more and more self conscious, almost ready to walk away. I had already thrown myself at him. If he didn't feel like playing catch, I wasn't going to beg. Just before I moved to make my exit, he made up his mind, pulled me against him, and kissed me like I had never been kissed before.

After he made the decision, there was no hesitation. We tumbled off of our makeshift bench and I took what I wanted, while he tried to convince me to move to a poor private location. It wasn't romantic. It was a lot like a fist fight, well until the end.

I wanted to sleep there on the floor. I knew if I moved I'd lose that soothing rush, but sleeping half naked in a common area, just wasn't safe. As I gathered my wits, but before I'd gathered all of my clothes, Haymitch pulled me up and slung me over his shoulder.

"I can do better than that." Was the only explanation he offered. Being carried like a sack of potatoes is infuriating, but before I could decide whether to knee him in the chest or punch him in the kidneys, I was struck by how ridiculous we must look, and began to laugh.

His room was closer, in a wing of single rooms reserved for those of higher rank. Once inside he dropped me on the bed, and proceeded to strip the rest of my clothes and then his. And after he has proved his point, repeatedly, I didn't fight the sleep that came. The deepest sleep I'd had since they'd stopped drugging me.

When I woke, I was covered in the thin military issue blanket. Haymitch was asleep beside me, not touching me, just near me, asleep and beautiful. It was the first chance I'd had to really look at him. His bare chest and arms were covered in scars, both old and new. He reminded me of a picture from one of my father's books. It was once a famous painting, of two lovers kissing, but they seemed to be made entirely of flowers. That was Haymitch, except instead of flowers he was made of scars.

That was how it began with Haymitch and me. I guess it's not the love story people want to tell their grandchildren, but it's the truth, and we don't have any grandchildren to worry about. I can't say when I fell in love with him. I don't think I knew it at the time.

It certainly wasn't the first night that I woke screaming in his bed. I'd tried not to make a habit of sleeping there, but it was hard to resist real sleep, and I knew my roommate was grateful not have to listen to me crying, screaming, or vomiting all night. But if I slept, the dreams would inevitably come.

It was one of the more common ones. The little cabin in the woods was burning. I could hear Gale wailing in pain, and I knew that my mother was dead. I was walking through the fire, could feel my skin blistering and falling away, but I couldn't stop until I found my son.

My own howls woke me. My skin tingled from the imagined flames, though I was drenched in sweat. There was the quick relief of waking, and then the realization that the parts that mattered weren't just a dream. They were really dead.

It took some time to realize that the pressure I felt was Haymitch's arms around me. I didn't want to be held, didn't want him to see me or console me, but the sorrow was too heavy. My limbs had no strength to push him away. So I shook and wept against him, until the stillness came.

We never, ever spoke of it.

I don't think I was in love with him when the Mocking Jay and her team were lost in the Capitol, but I might have been the night their pictures were broadcast as fugitives, instead of prisoners or martyrs.

We all celebrated that night, even I who sort of hated her, and even the guys from 13 who had never celebrated anything in their lives. We baked extra bread and served it with wild honey, we'd been buying from the bravest locals. Everyone shared the songs and dances from their district, and the the handful of women danced with everyone, so that no one was left out. Even though I danced with over a dozen soldiers that night, whenever my eye met Haymitch's, we were the only people in the room.

We were two of the last to leave the party, and in the wee hours, we took the forbidden liberty of sharing a shower. There were no timers on the showers, but wasting water was still a major offense. The lukewarm spray of water and Haymitch's arms around me were the perfect end to a disarmingly happy day.

"Where'd you learn to dance like that?" He asked, pulling me back against his chest and resting his chin on my shoulder.

"I never learned. I used to pretend, but I was much too young to go dancing when we left."

"Well you're very good, for someone who never learned. I couldn't keep my eyes off of you." I pulled away, reaching for the thin bar of yellow soap.

"My mother was a dancer, one of the best in her time. They wanted to send her to the Capitol, and make her famous in their theaters, but she refused." He raised his brow. Not many people had refused the Capitol and lived to tell. "They wanted to do surgery to lengthen her limbs and make her thinner. She said it would have thrown off her balance. My father says she was so beautiful he would have stolen her away before he let them change her."

"She sounds like you."

"Stubborn?" I smiled.

He nodded, "and beautiful."

Yes, that might have been the night, or even the moment. I wasn't even aware of it, or hadn't acknowledged it by the time the war ended. When Haymitch told me he was going to the Capitol to be with Katniss, I told myself I was only feeling a residual sting, from last time a man chose her over me. I knew the situation was different, that the rebels probably hadn't given him a choice, and we were just a hobby, after all.

When Coin hit the floor, I knew I had been wrong about my feelings. If 13's justice was anything like the Capitol's, Haymitch could easily be held accountable for Katniss's actions. The theatre was in a total uproar. By the time I made it back stage, there was no sign of Katniss or Haymitch. A guard suggested I try the base at city hall.

As I picked my way through the broken city, I was caught off guard, both by it's beauty and it's destruction. The buildings that still stood, glittered in the light of the many fires, yet to be put out. At city hall, the guard seemed relieved when I only asked him about Haymitch. He sent me to the Govenor's mansion. From there I was sent to an unscathed skyscraper. Anyone else would have recognized it as the tributes' training facility.

I was admitted without question. Haymitch was on the 12th floor, they told me. I took the elevator up, expecting to be met by more guards. When I stepped off, into what seemed to be a lavish hotel suite, I couldn't see anyone. I took a few steps, and the sound of my boots on the concrete made me jump. This was all too strange, and too easy. I wondered if it was a trap, and even considered turning back.

Then I saw him, standing in front of a table full of bottles, with an abandoned game of solitaire on the opposite end. He was watching a screen, without the sound, and he turned toward my footsteps as I moved down the hall. He looked stunned , and then a smile spread across his lips.

I put my arms around him, pressing my fingers into his back, assuring myself that it was him and he was safe. I would later grumble about searching the terrors of the city while he played cards, but for the moment I was simply grateful to hold him again.

"What are you doing here?" He said after a while, not pushing me away.

"I saw what happened to Coin. I thought that they would blame you, that they might..." I swallowed hard. Now that the journey was over, the weight of it seemed heavier. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

He was beaming down at me. "I thought you'd have found some soldier to replace me by now."

"I couldn't if I wanted to." I shook my head against his shoulder.

"Why, because of my operation?" He asked.

"No, Haymitch." He wanted me to say it. With everything else in chaos, he needed to know where we stood. After all I'd put him through, I guessed I owed him that much. "Because I love you."

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear that?" He took my face in his hands and kissed me.

How long? It couldn't have been very long. We'd only been together a little over a month. "How long?" I asked him.

"From the moment we met."

I didn't like recalling that night, but I tried to remember it in detail, running out in Gale's shirt and meeting Haymitch as he stepped out of the hovercraft. "Because I was half naked?" I asked.

"No." He chuckled, still holding onto me. "That was part of it. It was bold. You saw us as a threat, but there you were, totally vulnerable, and you would have taken me on, if you had to." I was silent, taking this in, trying to determine if I had been manipulated, or if it mattered, as he went on. "When we were leaving. You were crying, and you said you weren't Katniss, like that's a bad thing. I thought he was the stupidest man in the world."

I tried to think back, to see the girl he described. Didn't he know I wasn't that girl now? "But you never hit on me?"

"You would have beat me up." He grinned.

"But I came onto you. I had to convince you."

"I didn't know if I'd be taking advantage, or if I could stand being taken advantage of by you." He didn't say it like an accusation, but it made me wonder how often and how deeply I'd hurt him.

I saw it then. I saw his face in the elevator. Remember the times he'd stepped between me and another altercation. How he'd always made sure I was warm enough, before he settled down to sleep beside me. He loved me. He'd never hidden it. I'd been too angry to notice. He'd loved me enough to be a friend until I wanted a lover, and a lover until I was ready for love.

Katniss made it through with her insanity defense. When Haymitch told me he was going back to 12 to watch over her, he didn't ask me to come along. I simply mentioned that the hunting was good there, and he agreed.

Few of 12's survivors have returned. Still the town is growing, as movement between districts becomes safer and more common. There is talk of a Katniss Everdeen museum, that would bring the masses to pay their respects and give thanks to their Mockingjay. Though I doubt Katniss would allow such a monstrosity in her lifetime.

It's a nice neighborhood. There's an unspoken understanding that screams in the night are to be expected and ignored, particularly on nights when the fireplaces are lit and around the Memorial of the Games. Katniss and Peeta are good neighbors. Peeta mows our lawn, or he did until Haymitch got his sheep. He brings us fresh bread. Their kids swim in the pool that Haymitch had built for me on the lot behind us.

I have made a peace with Katniss, though she hardly knew we were rivals. After a couple of years of separately mourning the woods, and the memories of Hawthorn that linger there, she and I have begun to hunt together. We provide meat for most of the town and have begun taking small groups of locals with us once a month, teaching them about the forest and all it has to offer.

My father was able to purchase the house by the sea back from the authorities of 4, who seized it after we left. He lived there only long enough to have it restored, and now spends most of his time traveling between districts. He will not practice medicine, but says he's seen all the sickness and bloodshed a person can stand, he now devotes his energy to what bring him the most joy, books. He singlehandedly began the campaign that resulted in public libraries in each district and the reproduction of books he calls "classics".

Years later, when travel had become safe and we were all as sane as we're ever going be again, we took a trip to 4 with the Melarks. The house by the sea was just as I remembered it then, and I could almost hear my mother's laughter in the halls. No one questioned my weeping when I was reunited with the waves. Haymitch followed into the shallow water, despite the chill, and only pulled me away when my teeth began to chatter.


End file.
